“Calstead and his protégés,” Bruce said. “He’s one of our finest youngbloods. Until you know

enough to choose your own Guard, it’s probably best. And the loup-garou, too—Graves?”

“Edgar Hideaki Graves.” Hiro set his fork down with a precise little click. “A finer juvenile delinquent I’m sure we cannot find.”

I half-choked on a mouthful of very cold orange juice. I almost gave myself a nasal with it, too.

Whoa, wait a sec. “Edgar?” I all but squeaked.

“So his file says.” Bruce nodded. “He was bitten by the Silver-head?”

“Yeah, Ash bit him.” They hadn’t said anything about Ash. They had to know he was bottled up in

the room downstairs. But I wasn’t going to bring it up and maybe have them decide he was better

off locked up somewhere I couldn’t get to him.

I felt . . . responsible.

“The loup-garou has a Record.” You could just hear the capital letter in Hiro’s tone. “Normally he

would be at a . . . satellite Schola, even with the happy accident of half-imprinting.”

“All the benefits, few of the drawbacks. And less hair.” Marcus leaned back in his chair. I didn’t see

how he could lounge in something so hard and uncomfortable, but he managed it. “He’s a fortunate

one.”

There it is again. Something crystallized inside my head.

There were no wulfen in this room. Here I was full of breakfast, and Graves was waiting outside,

probably hungry. These were the heads of the Order, and there wasn’t a single wulfen in here. It was

always djamphir in control and snarky comments about the wulfen. Talking about how lucky

Graves was because he didn’t get all furry.

Gran raised me in Appalachia, and Dad and I stayed below the Mason-Dixon most of the time. I

know the word for behavior like this, and I’ve seen it all over. It’s never pretty. Maybe I’m lucky,

since moving around so much showed me people are the same everywhere. Still, there’s something

ugly down South. When you aren’t sure you’re at the top of the food chain, it doesn’t make sense to

make everyone below you on that chain suffer—but people do it anyway, and they do it all the time.

Because it makes them feel bigger, more secure.

I was just about to say something—I don’t even know what, maybe something like, He’s a person

too, you know—when the mahogany doors swung open. A flash of crimson silk, a long fall of curly

reddish hair, and high-heeled boots with buttons marching up their front all came to a halt. Just like

a cat will see you looking at it and stop dead, one paw in the air.

Did I just imagine it? I was exhausted and running on nerves, but I swear to God I saw a flash of